Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Seite 69

guard just behind him; he ducked down behind one of
the protective banks then peered around it to assess the
situation. Several of the rotary guns were now in action; a second illumination round had been fired. From
the trenches facing the attack, at least a platoon of men
were firing at the rebels. Rebel fire was sporadic and
poorly aimed. Most of them seemed to be charging
straight at the camp.

Wait, they were walking toward the camp.
This was no headlong charge—they were walking. He
needed to see what was happening. He turned to the
closest soldier.

Across the fighting the few remaining rebels
were drawing a storm of fire and one by one they fell
and did not rise again.

“You there, run to the mortar. Tell them I want
at least two of those lights in the air at once. I need to
see what is happening.”

The soldier ran off, and Summerby turned back
to the fight. There seemed to be hundreds of the rebels,
they were felled then more movement came from the
darkness.

A fresh illumination round was launched
skyward. The tin sphere flew to the highest point of its
flight, as its fuse burned down and went off. The upper
section separated, and the cloth parachute within came
free and filled. The lower, heavier hemisphere was
also ignited by the fuse, the phosphor within burning
brightly and spraying outward by means of a hole
at the bottom of the half-sphere. It was this spray of
burning phosphor that cast the light below it.

Quickly a second illumination round joined the
first, casting harsh, bright light across the battlefield.

Now the attackers could be seen, the dozens
became only a handful and as Summerby watched

one took several hits and fell over backwards. Then
he gasped and called on god for salvation as the man
he had just seen take at least two hits in the chest
struggled back to his feet. More rounds struck the
rebel—one struck him in the head, and the heavy
round shattered his skull and blew the back of his head
outward in a cloud of brains. The rebel staggered but
stayed upright till a vast explosion erupted from the
ground in front of him and the blast turned him into a
spray of flesh and bone.

The light from the illuminating rounds flickered and died. Silence swept across the camp as the
last shots were fired. Then a few calls began. Shouts,
calls to god, someone was praying, others were trying
to explain what they had seen.

“You see that. They wouldn’t die. I hit that
one. His head was gone. This ain’t natural. Cursed
place. God save us.”

Sergeants and officers stepped in to restore
order. The levy took the longest to bring under control,
British army discipline quickly had the redcoats back
in ranks. No matter how strange or unnatural things
seemed to be, the shouts and curses of the sergeants
remained as a reminder of more normal times.

It took time to get everything back under control, not unsurprising given that First Company, First
Battalion, 53rd (Shropshire) Regiment of Foot had just
fought a battle against an enemy that seemingly would
not die. Skirmishers were sent out to sweep the battlefield, reluctantly and very carefully, but they went
nonetheless.

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